


I Saw a Life and I Called It Mine

by theshipsfirstmate



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, for fic's sake, olicity fic, p.s. Get Sgt. Small Hands a first name please, post-5x01 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8247787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipsfirstmate/pseuds/theshipsfirstmate
Summary: Post-5x01. How Felicity Smoak fell into a relationship with a cop, just as her mother’s was falling apart."He smiles fully then, right at her, and she notices, not for the first time, that it seems to come so easy to him. Everything feels a little easier with him."





	

_A/N: Title from “[On a Good Day](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D-WFtFEBob08&t=MDg2ZGYwM2Q5YjM4ZWFlMjFmM2NlZDc5ZTEwNmQwYmM2MTRiNGM2YSw4TThvUXJZMQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AiAw4tJIAalN1OvhWtUFPsQ&m=1)” by Joanna Newsom (but def check out the [Robin Pecknold cover](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DNOw0mQN7G_c&t=MjU3MWI0ZjdiMGQ5ZjlhOGI4ZmY4NjQ4NDNmNGQ4OTNiYjAxNjRlNCw4TThvUXJZMQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AiAw4tJIAalN1OvhWtUFPsQ&m=1), that’s the one that’s in my ear right now). This song is so Olicity right now, I can’t even tell you. But allow me to try._

**I Saw a Life and I Called It Mine**

She never meant for it to happen like this. She never meant to be happy without him.

She meets Malone for the first time one night in June when he drops Lance off at the loft, soaked in summer rain and what smells like bourbon, arm slung sloppily around the younger man.

“Quentin?” It still feels strange to Felicity, using his first name, but he had insisted. _“Kinda strange, me dating your mom and you calling me Captain, ain’t it?”_

“Hm?” Lance lifts his head slightly from where it’s drooped against his chest, a position that’s become habitual in the months following Laurel’s funeral. “Donna’s here?” He slurs it together like it’s one word and Felicity clenches her teeth, biting down on the edges of her tongue to keep rising anger at bay.

“No, Donna’s at your apartment, waiting for you, worried sick.” She turns to the stranger, who she figures is at least an enabler. “And _you_ are?”

“Oh, ah, Detective Malone,” he foists Lance onto the couch so he can grab his badge from his coat pocket and flash it at her. She doesn’t really look. “Sorry, he wouldn’t actually give me an address, just told me to keep turning until we wound up here.”

“S’a good kid,” Lance mumbles from where his face is pressed into a pillow, and Felicity’s too furious to find him pathetic. “S’a good cop.”

At this point, his assessment doesn’t hold too much water, and so Felicity turns to the young detective with pursed lips and a furrowed brow, misdirecting her ire onto the more coherent party. “You were out with him?”

“No ma’am,” Malone raises his hands in innocence and his eyebrows in slight amusement. “Just happened to drive past him outside that bar on 7th and Washington.”

“You’re with the SCPD?” Felicity is vaguely aware that she’s giving him the third degree, but she stops herself short of mentioning (and then having to explain) how she’s fairly certain she knows every officer on the force.

“Just transferred,” he answers, still irritatingly calm. “Lance was one of my instructors at the academy. He called me last month and offered me a transfer.”

“And here you are,” she finishes sharply, softening when the man flinches a little. Embarrassed, she looks down at her hands and fidgets absently with her phone. “I mean, thank you for getting him here. I appreciate it, even if it’s about to send my mother into hysterics.”

“Try to get some coffee into him before she gets here,” he says, giving her a kind smile that goes all the way to his eyes. “My dad fell off the wagon a few times. I kind of know the drill.”

It’s a really inappropriate time to notice how handsome he is, but the rest of Felicity’s emotions are a furious jumble so of course her brain goes right for it.

“You should have my number,” she stammers as he turns to leave, cursing her careless tongue as soon as the words make their way to her ears. “Just in case…this happens again. I’d rather you guys call me than my mom.”

He doesn’t laugh at her slip, just purses his lips and nods reassuringly. She digs into her wallet for a business card and when she glances up, he’s looking past her to where Lance is already snoring on the couch, jaw set in an expression she can’t quite read. He snaps back when she presses the card into his palm, glancing down to read it as his other hand reaches to his jacket pocket for a card of his own and a pen.

“It’s nice to meet you, Felicity. You should have my number too,” he echoes. “In case you need it…”

He flips over his SCPD card, scribbling ten digits she assumes are a personal line, and handing it to her, pausing until she lifts her gaze to meet his. Then he smiles again.

“Or, you know, in case you want it.”

* * *

Felicity’s not sure why she holds onto the card; she doesn’t even look at it again, save for a quick, guilty glance a few weeks later when Lance mentions that Malone had asked after her. Then one night, the first time Oliver comes back to the bunker with a suspect’s blood on his hands and nothing like remorse in his eyes, she uses it.

“Movie night?” She texts Malone, doesn’t give the detective any chance to catch the uncertainty she knows would color her tone. It feels like she holds her breath for the entire seven minutes it takes him to answer.

He brings popcorn and Swedish Fish and Felicity heaves her first real sigh of relief when he calls to her from the kitchen as she boots up her Netflix account on the big screen.

“OK, listen, I may be a hopeless cook, but I thought I could at least recognize a microwave.” Malone’s voice echoes differently off the high ceilings, but she’s decidedly not thinking about that.

“Don’t worry,” Felicity laughs softly as she walks over to point out how the high-end interior decorator had built the appliance into a waist-level drawer that blends in perfectly with the cabinetry. “I know exactly where it is, because I am also a terrible cook.”

“Didn’t really mean to reveal that so early,” he admits sheepishly, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. It’s kind of adorable. “I know girls love a guy that’s good in the kitchen.”

Felicity takes a surreptitious deep breath, bracing herself for a sense memory to come screaming into her subconscious, but it doesn’t really happen. Her stomach doesn’t twist. Her vision doesn’t blur. The hairs on the back of her neck don’t stand up like they’re sensing someone else there. She’s not thinking about it.

“There are more important things,” she admits easily, watching the corners of Malone’s mouth twitch, which turns out to be contagious. “Lucky for you, I know all the best takeout spots in town.”

He smiles fully then, right at her, and she notices, not for the first time, that it seems to come so easy to him. Everything feels a little easier with him.

They watch the first two Back to the Futures and it’s simple, fun even. She laughs loudly and it doesn’t ache. They eat too much candy and the world doesn’t end. And when she walks him to the door at the end of the night, he doesn’t try to kiss her.

The stranger part is, she almost wants him to.

* * *

In August, Felicity has a wake up call.

It’s a literal one; her mother phones her at 3 a.m., voice shaking violently, though she can tell Donna’s not all-out crying, yet. She bolts from the loft, down the stairs and out the door to the sidewalk, trying to to think clearly enough to tell her mom she’s on her way.

She ignores her unconscious first instinct, which is to call Oliver for help, and doesn’t even have time to think about ordering an Uber before an SCPD squad car with flashing lights is pulling right up to the curb beside her.

“Lance called me while Donna was on with you,” Malone calls through the open passenger side window and something like relief trickles through the terror in her chest. “Want a faster ride?”

She climbs into the front seat, so grateful for him in this moment that it’s almost a physical pang. After he reaches down to shift the car into drive, she laces her fingers through his, holding on tight. His hand is cooler than Oliver’s when it gives hers a tight squeeze – she’s not thinking about that – slender and soft, save for the callous on his trigger finger.

“How did he sound?” Felicity asks cautiously. He just shakes his head silently, keeping his eyes intensely focused on the road as he weaves through the mostly-empty city streets. She’s grateful, at least, that he doesn’t lie to her.

Lance’s apartment door is unlocked and Malone insists on entering in front of her, his hand braced at the hip where she knows his gun is holstered. Her heart stutters at the sight of shattered glass on the groud, but then her mother bursts like a whirlwind into the foyer, frantic and frightened, but seemingly, mercifully unharmed.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Felicity’s question is muffled out by Donna launching herself into her arms, and each shuddering sob convinces her that they need to leave this place, now.

She’s even more grateful for Malone when he jumps onto Lance duty without being asked; after they’re able parse that he’s locked himself in the master bathroom, the younger man makes his way to the door, knocking and calling his name. After a few murmured words, Felicity hears the snick of the latch and breathes another sigh of relief.

In the time it takes Donna to pack a bag, a looming sense of finality settles over the apartment, and Felicity’s ready to go. She checks in with Malone and Lance, genuinely concerned for the latter, but piloted by something greater at the moment.

“He’s alright?” she asks through the bathroom door as Donna futilely touches up her makeup in the hallway mirror.

“No, but he’s not hurt,” Malone does his best to assure her while still answering honestly, and it works, somehow. She realizes, again with perfectly imperfect timing, that the swell of affection she feels for him is starting to be a regular thing. “You guys go, I’ve got this.”

She means to take her mother across town to the loft, but she just keeps driving, navigating Donna’s busted hatchback past the Star City limits, all the way back to Vegas. She knows it’s the right move when their tears dry up somewhere in Northern California and Felicity realizes her mother hasn’t protested once.

They spend the night in a hotel on the Strip, and by lunch the next day, Donna’s already got a new waitressing gig and a place to stay temporarily with an old co-worker. Felicity watches her on the phone and recognizes for the first time exactly where she got her knack for moving on.

She hugs her mother tight before setting back out for Star City, tearfully promising a return trip in a week or two. Before she pulls out onto the highway, she finally replies to one of Malone’s concerned texts, letting him know she’s OK, all things considered, and on her way back.

Felicity expects an answering text, maybe a call. Instead she gets the detective himself, sitting with his back against her front door when she returns to the loft that night. She smiles despite herself at the sight of him, cross-legged in her hallway, and he returns it with a little hint of sadness that she knows is just for her.

“How long have you been here?”

“I may have underestimated the drive time from Vegas.” He crawls to his feet, holding up a bag so she’ll recognize the logo of the deli with her favorite matzo ball soup and raises his eyebrows to turn his smile into something more playful. “But hey, at least I know where the microwave is.”

The soup reheats fine, but this night is starkly different from their usual dinner-and-a-movie, and the shift is palpable. It’s not easy, she realizes. That’s what different. The void she’s asking him to fill feels more dishearteningly vast than ever before.

“Maybe this will be a wake-up call,” Malone offers when he can tell she’s getting lost in her thoughts. “Losing a love like that should be enough to make a man turn around.”

“Maybe,” Felicity answers, suddenly wondering if this conversation isn’t really about Lance at all. “It’s just… he’s lost so much already, so many people close to him. Maybe after a while, there’s nothing left to lose.”

“I don’t think I believe that,” Malone tells her earnestly, “I don’t think I can believe that and keep doing what I do.”

She kisses him then, just turns to where he’s seated on the couch beside her and kisses him, because he’s noble and kind and she wants some of that goodness in a life marred by death and destruction. She kisses him because he doesn’t know that she’s seen the dead walk again, because he doesn’t know the truth about Havenrock. She kisses him because he doesn’t know that he shouldn’t let her.

Of course it’s the very next day that Oliver asks absently after her mother for the first time in weeks. It doesn’t quite violate the unwritten terms of their personal life detente, but it’s close enough to take Felicity by surprise, and she ducks her head so he can’t see the tears that swim across her sightline.

“She’s fine,” she tells him tersely, leaving it at that. It’s not a lie. Donna’s outer coat may be pink and sparkly, but inside, she’s made of reinforced steel. She’s going to be fine. They both are.

* * *

It’s not until September that the loneliness really sink into her bones. With her mother in town and Oliver’s intensifying schedule, it had been easy for Felicity to stay busy enough to not get lost in her mind, but now that Donna’s gone, the quiet starts to eat away at her.

She misses Digg, and Laurel, and Roy, and Sara, everyone. Oliver’s almost worse, because he’s still there, just out of her orbit, cordoned off in the chilly neutral zone they’ve unconsciously built between them. He took Thea with him too, she realizes belatedly.

Malone comes over about once a week. Their hectic, quasi-nocturnal schedules often sync up, which is nice except she has to stay vague about what’s keeping her so late at “work.” But it makes her happy, spending time with him. Happy enough to weather the fallout when Oliver inevitably finds out, she’s starting to believe.

Besides, she’s not thinking about him.

She’s even kissed Malone a few more times – and it’s always that way around, her kissing him. She doesn’t find out why that is until it’s nearly October.

“I saw you were at Mayor Queen’s press conference earlier,” he tells her coolly over pad thai one night. She’s surprised, because they’ve spent the last few months avoiding the topic, but there’s no accusation in his tone. It’s another thing she really likes about Malone, that his affection doesn’t seem to come with a side of possessiveness.

“We still have work associates in common,” Felicity responds to the question he didn’t really ask as best she can, trying her hardest to not sound defensive. “It’s kind of unavoidable.”

“I just…I know you two were engaged,” he continues carefully, so carefully. “I don’t want to step in the middle of anything here.”

“There’s nothing to be in the middle of,” she says after a long pause, knowing it’s not really an answer. “It’s definitely over.”

It’s not the same, between them. She wants to tell him that. But that answer is merely the tip of a potentially devastating iceberg. ( _Will anything ever be the same?_ is the recurring question that threatens to sink her where she sits.)

It’s also different than it was with Ray, though. This thing with Malone, whatever it is, it doesn’t feel like just a distraction. It seems like something that could be real, if she lets herself believe it. Maybe a relationship doesn’t have to be agonizing to be worth it.

Maybe he could love her. Maybe he already does. Maybe she could love him back.

Maybe she could be happy, even if she didn’t mean to be.

* * *

_A/N: Woo, first post-ep of the season! p.s. unrelated to this, I have a season-long hunch about Sgt. Small Hands, hit me up if you want to hear a bunch of probably untrue speculation. Thanks for reading!_


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